


call sign

by badacts



Series: spies and traitors [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: F/F, Government Agencies, Government Conspiracies, Prequel, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 10:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16679725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badacts/pseuds/badacts
Summary: Allison Reynolds likes her showers like she likes her sex: long, hot, and without any unexpected interruptions. That’s why, when she pauses mid-rinse at the sound of her front door closing, the first thing she does is reach for the gun hanging by its holster on the towel rail.Keeping her sidearm in reach even when she’s in the shower is potentially why Allison has had a lot more showers than sex lately.





	call sign

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially a prequel to my Big Bang '18 fic, finger to the trigger/pedal to the floor. I didn't get to write as much about Allison in that fic as I wanted to, but I really wanted to write this little scene :D

Allison Reynolds likes her showers like she likes her sex: long, hot, and without any unexpected interruptions. That’s why, when she pauses mid-rinse at the sound of her front door closing, the first thing she does is reach for the gun hanging by its holster on the towel rail.

Keeping her sidearm in reach even when she’s in the shower is potentially why Allison has had a lot more showers than sex lately.

She leaves the shower running, slipping soundlessly from behind the shower curtain and through the bathroom door. Most of the apartment lights are off - it’s 2AM, after all - but there’s a light on in the kitchen that Allison definitely didn’t leave on. She pads down the hall, aware of but disregarding the water puddling on the hardwood floor. 

She’ll bill whoever has broken into her apartment for the damages. Unless she kills them, of course.

She sidles up to the kitchen door, listening intently but hearing nothing. Rather than walk directly in and risk a bullet, she presses her back to the wall next to the doorway and tips her head around just enough to see the reflections in her mirrored backsplash.

Stylish  _ and _ functional. To think her interior designer wanted her to go with tiles.

There’s no movement. There is someone sitting at Allison’s breakfast bar. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Of course, Renee Walker doesn’t flinch at Allison’s voice, or at the gun. “Hi, Allison.”

“‘Hi, Allison’? That’s what you’re going with?” Allison demands, stomping into the kitchen and flipping the safety of her service weapon on. Renee, proving that she has more self-control than God himself, somehow doesn’t drop her gaze below Allison’s chin. “You lost the right to let yourself into my apartment right about when you dropped off the face of the Earth.”

“I still have a key,” Renee replies. She has her hands folded one atop the other on the bench in front of her, and her eyes are very still. 

“Well, it was kind of hard to get it back when you ditched your phone,” Allison replies, tossing the gun onto the bench with a cavalier air her superiors would have her hide over, “And your apartment. And your job.”

“I understand you’re upset-”

Allison sees red. “Upset?  _ Upset _ ? Baby, I left upset behind about three weeks after you ghosted your entire fucking  _ life. _ I’m not upset - I’m  _ furious _ .”

Renee does wince a little bit at that. Maybe it’s just because Allison is yelling, though - she always hated it when Allison raised her voice. She says, “I’m sorry.”

“Well, good for you,” Allison snarls. “What the fuck do you want?”

The thing about Renee that Allison always finds - always found - so difficult is that she feels a lot more than she ever shows. Allison wears her heart on her sleeve, and while she gets Renee’s reasoning for being closed off - fuck you, trauma - it’s still hard to see someone who looks unmoved and try to decipher what’s underneath it.

“I want,” Renee says, and, in a rare show of emotion, sighs. “I want to apologise.”

“You know, there’s this thing called a cellphone. You could try it.”

“It’s not that easy,” Renee says.

Well. Maybe Allison got better at reading Renee than she gives herself credit for, because she sees it as clear as day in the fraction of a second that it’s there to read. She says, “Are you in trouble?”

Renee laughs a little. “No. I  _ am _ trouble.”

Allison doesn’t dignify this with a response besides raising her eyebrows, expectant.

Renee looks down at her hands, and then back to Allison’s eyes. “You have a new job. Secret Service. They’ve got you tagged as an up-and-comer, but there are already several private security firms who would love to headhunt you. There were rumours you left the CIA because of sexual misconduct from your superior. It’s really because you were sick of the corruption right up to the top. The sexual misconduct stopped because you stopped it with a well-placed stiletto. Sources say they aren’t sure whether it was the knife or the shoe.”

Allison momentarily wishes she hadn’t ditched the gun. “How do you know that?”

Renee says, smiling, “I have a new job, too.”

“With who?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“DoD? No, you’d never work for them. Doubt you’d go back to the letter agencies either,” Allison muses. “Fuck, I don’t know. Gang enforcer - gone back to the old life? It’s that or something I don’t know about. Is this a Mrs. and Mrs. Smith situation?”

Renee’s brow furrows. “A what?”

“I know you’ve seen that movie,” Allison retorts.

“You always were better at talking than listening,” Renee says.  _ Ouch _ .

“And I was always better at oral than talking,” Allison replies without thinking. “What’s your point?”

Renee gives her a slanted look that says a half-dozen different things, with an even fifty-fifty split between pleased and annoyed. Allison did always enjoy earning that particular look.

Before Renee left her in the lurch, that is. 

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Renee says eventually. “I really did just come here to apologise. You don’t have to talk to me again if you don’t want to.”

Allison mulls that over. “I don’t have to talk to you again. The implication being that I’m going to be seeing you around.”

Renee shrugs. “Perhaps. I’ve moved back into town. Different address.”

“Doubt you got your deposit back from the last one. Or any of your stuff.” Allison had gone over there to check the apartment more than once. There had been dust but not much missing, as far as she could tell.

“I took what was important,” Renee says peaceably. “I’m working at an office downtown.”

There. There’s that look again, whip-quick and just as sharp. “What’s the address? So I know which one to avoid.” Allison grabs a pad of paper and a pen from the bench, sliding them across the bench to Renee. Renee doesn’t hesitate to write it down.

Maybe it’s fake. Maybe Allison can answer some questions and figure some stuff out about Renee’s new job, because she doubts Renee will tell her upfront. If Allison uncovers some hidden branch of the Yakuza with ears inside both the Secret Service and the CIA, it’ll look great on her CV. Renee working for them unwillingly would be a bonus. If it’s willing, well - Allison will deal with that later.

“Coffee?” Allison asks smoothly, accepting the paper Renee rips from the pad and folding it into quarters before tucking it under her gun.

Renee finally looks taken aback, just a little. “I’m sorry?”

“Coffee. Would you like some?”

“It’s,” Renee starts. “Yes?”

“Alright,” Allison says, turning away to put the pot on. She has the distinct feeling of Renee’s eyes dropping from her own eye level to much, much lower. Self-control better than God, sure, but apparently it’s not perfect. 

“You could,” Renee starts, “Get dressed? I won’t leave.”

Allison throws her an arch look over her shoulder. “And why should I trust you won’t?”

“Because I didn’t want to in the first place,” Renee replies. Allison, who was reaching for mugs from the cupboard, fumbles but doesn’t drop them. “I never wanted to leave, Allison.”

Allison shouldn’t believe her. Allison is an intelligent, highly-ranked operative who once flipped a superior officer over her shoulder and pressed her heel into his balls until he promised he would never touch anyone without their permission again. She’s smarter than that.

She’s also very bad at making good choices.

“Well, that’s a good reason to not bother getting dressed,” she says.


End file.
